


The Detourist

by MaxWrite



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007), The World's End (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicholas's quiet New Year's Eve isn't so quiet once the King pays a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Detourist

**Author's Note:**

> So, there was a Simon Pegg-based secret Santa thing on Tumblr this past Christmas. I signed up and totally meant to have something done for it sooner, but, um ... happy Easter, here's a New Year's Eve fic? :D
> 
> I really did mean to have this finished months ago, but then life happened and oops. Apologies. This was written for my lovely recipient [25586](http://25586.tumblr.com/), who ships Nicholas/Gary.
> 
> Anyway, thank you to [mdevile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mdevile) for the betaing. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own fault.

Nicholas was a creature of habit.

He jogged the same route every morning, beginning and ending at the same time, give or take a few minutes depending on traffic. He alternated between two balanced breakfasts – either cold cereal with exactly one cup of milk, or one poached egg on wheat toast, both with fresh fruit on the side – and read the same sections of the morning paper, always in the same order. Not that he needed the paper to tell him what was happening; Sandford being Sandford, the biggest surprise he ever got was the funnies actually being funny.

He had lunch in Brewer's Coffee Shop everyday at the same table, which was usually free. On the very rare occasion that it wasn't, anyone sitting there when he and Danny arrived would give a cheery wave and an "Afternoon, Officers!" and move to another seat. Which was never necessary, of course. Nicholas and Danny would never ask anyone to move or be terribly bothered if someone chose not to. It was nice nonetheless.

On a slow day, which was most days, Nicholas and Danny would spend an hour or two at the local pub after shift, where Nicholas would order his usual cranberry juice, save for Fridays when he allowed himself a lager or two.

Danny didn't mind predictability sometimes, but he got a bit restless more often than Nicholas did. He yearned for excitement. Nicholas could often quell that urge with a story or two about things he'd done on the job back in London. And when Sandford became too quiet for comfort and Nicholas began scrutinising every man, woman, and dog for minor infractions, Danny always knew what to say to him to make him switch off.

But it was the last day of December, New Year's Eve, and Danny was gone for the holiday, visiting family in Essex. Nicholas had opted to stay in Sandford for Christmas. Danny had invited him along, of course, but Nicholas had declined. The prospect of an awkward meeting with Danny's family made Nicholas cringe, not to mention the empty seat at the table where Danny's father would've been … had he not been cooling his heals in prison thanks to Nicholas.

Staying at a hotel wasn't much more appealing. Someday, though. Someday he'd go and meet the rest of his best friend's family. But this year, Nicholas's Tuesday routine clung to him as fiercely as Nicholas clung to it.

And so, on the snowy, picturesque night of December 31st, Nicholas was exactly where he would normally be, sat at the bar in the local pub, nursing a cranberry juice. Well, it wasn't _exactly_ where he would be; his and Danny's usual table was occupied, but that was okay. Nicholas felt strange sitting there without Danny anyway.

Staying behind was turning out to be the least routine choice Nicholas could have made. He'd underestimated exactly how big a part of his routine Danny was. He felt off kilter, and it showed.

"Not your usual effervescent self lately, Nicholarse," Wainwright had commented earlier that day at the station.

Nicholas had been at his desk filling out paperwork; mainly the daily logs for what he'd done that day and how much mileage he'd put on his vehicle, the sort of paperwork that would have made Danny do a pantomime of him hanging himself by his tie and expiring right there in his desk. "And what's that mean?" Nicholas had asked without looking up.

"Notebook," said Cartwright. "Where is it, then, eh?"

"What?" But when Nicholas had instinctively looked down to his breast pocket upon hearing the word 'notebook', he'd found that the Andes were correct; his notebook and his pen were missing.

"Haven't seen you without that thing since … ever," said Wainwright. "Better hurry off and find it. Might need to record the scandalous details of the case of who forgot to change the coffee filter in the break room at lunch today."

Nicholas had shot Wainwright an annoyed look. "That was you. Besides, I thought you'd finally learnt what a valuable tool a notebook can be."

"Oh, I have. I've also learnt it's okay to put the bloody thing down now and again. Bet you shower with yours."

"Oh, I know what happened to it," said Cartwright with a smirk. He'd leaned in close to Wainwright and said under his breath but conveniently loud enough for Nicholas to hear, "Bet you Danny nicked it. A little token to remember Nicholas by while they're apart."

Wainwright's face had broken into the biggest, most satisfied grin. "Two of 'em can't be apart longer than it takes to have a wee."

"And I bet they do that together too."

"Are you two quite finished?" Nicholas had demanded.

"Wait, wait, hang on," said Cartwright. He'd cleared his throat and gleefully sang, _"Nicholarse and Butterface sitting in a tree – K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"_ He'd stopped, sighed with apparent relief and declared, " _Now_ I'm finished."

The Andes poking fun at how close Nicholas and Danny were was certainly nothing new, but this last session had shed some light on things for Nicholas. Having the things he'd done wrong that day pointed out and connected to Danny's absence had, however inadvertently, helped Nicholas figure out that he felt out of sorts because he missed his friend.

Nicholas sipped his cranberry juice and thought about what advice Danny would have for him in this situation.

 _"Gettin' a wee bit uncomfortable sometimes is probably a good thing, yeah?"_ Danny would say. _"Means you're still breathin'."_

And Nicholas would say, _"I'm fairly certain I don't need unease to tell me that my respiratory functions haven't ceased."_

And then Danny would say, _"No, it means you're not over everything, you know? Something still gets you going, puts a tingle in your belly, makes you feel alive. Not much does that round here. We could both use a bit of discomfort now and again."_

_"Let me guess: proper action and shit."_

And Danny would grin like the happiest puppy and exclaim, _"That's what I'm talkin' about! … Or maybe just a different pub now and again."_

And then Nicholas would jokingly say, _"Easy now, Danny. Baby steps."_

Nicholas didn't realize he was grinning into his glass until he looked up and locked eyes with Jim the barman, who was standing a few meters away, polishing a glass and watching Nicholas with mild curiosity. Nicholas wiped the smile off his face, cleared his throat and looked away.

Danny would be right, of course. He had a way of simultaneously being the most naive and the wisest person Nicholas had ever met. Complacency was a killer. Nicholas knew that was true, especially on the job. Thinking you knew everything was a good way to get a nasty surprise. But in one's personal life, a little complacency couldn't hurt, could it? It was nice, knowing what was coming, that the paper would be there in the morning, that the coffee would taste the same, that you'd see the same faces. Nothing wrong with that.

For example, Nicholas could often tell what time it was simply by who walked into the pub. Several nights a week at ten p.m. Oliver Willoughby would turn up, and the fact that Nicholas had personally observed Jim pouring Ollie a bourbon moments before Ollie walked through the door told Nicholas that Ollie was probably in every night. As tonight was New Year's Eve, surely he'd be sauntering in, in due time.

Five minutes passed and the pub door remained stubbornly closed. Nicholas checked his watch. Yes, it was now three minutes past eleven. He glanced over his shoulder at the door; nothing but snowflakes drifting silently by the little window.

Nicholas frowned into his drink. His mind was already spinning through awful scenario after awful scenario. What if Ollie had already had one too many and had stumbled into the path of an oncoming vehicle. What if he'd slipped in the shower? Fallen down the stairs? Was being suffocated by carbon monoxide?

A change in any routine could mean anything, and here Nicholas sat having a leisurely drink while a man could be lying in his shower, dead from a slip-and-fall.

Nicholas nudged his half-empty glass away and made a move to grab his wallet from his back pocket, ready to pay and head back to the station to see if anything had gone down since he'd left. But just then the pub's door swung open.

It wasn't Ollie, as Nicholas had hoped. The newcomer pushed the door open as though it had wronged him in some way, shoving it aside with one near-violent push and gliding by it without a second glance. Nicholas could instantly tell he wasn't from round here. He stuck out something awful, dressed all in black, long coat, bandanna tied loosely round his neck, aviators perched on his nose – ridiculous, seeing as it was the middle of the night – and a large hat, what looked like a Stetson, on his head. He looked like he'd walked straight out of some old spaghetti western. Danny would've gotten a kick out of seeing this man stroll into the pub out of the blue.

The entire pub stopped to peer at him. Even the jukebox seemed to take notice as one song ended just as the door opened, and another began as the stranger's big black boots clunked on the wooden floor. Before the door could close behind him, a wintery wind blew in, flecked with snowflakes, making the long black coat flutter about the stranger's denim-clad legs.

If the stranger was aware of the eyes on him, he paid no mind. He seemed the sort to make a habit of dramatically swooping into quaint village taverns. Nicholas narrowed his eyes, wondering if this man had deliberately waited outside for the jukebox to switch songs.

He sat next to Nicholas, tucking his aviators into a pocket inside his coat as Jim approached. Nicholas pulled his glass back toward himself and traced its rim with his index finger, pretending to be occupied as he covertly sized up the newcomer. Every police instinct Nicholas had was pinging like an airport metal detector, but then the stranger removed his hat and set it gently down on the bar as though out of respect for the barman and his establishment. When he requested a drink, he cheerfully asked for plain water.

He gave Nicholas a glance and a nod as he waited for Jim to return, and looked away before Nicholas could return the nod, not that Nicholas had been planning to. He was too busy trying to figure the man out. It wasn't just that he seemed to radiate trouble. Nicholas also found his profile a bit unnerving. There was something awfully familiar about his face but Nicholas couldn't put his finger on what …

Hang on. Was that a _sword_?

Nicholas leaned slightly back to get a better look at the stranger's back, and yes, there, in its sheath, was what was unmistakably a sword.

Jim set down the requested water and retreated. The stranger picked it up and began sipping while Nicholas stared at the sword in disbelief. He nudged his cranberry juice aside again and opened his mouth to speak.

"Was wondering when you were gonna pluck up the balls to make a move," the stranger said.

At first, Nicholas was unsure who the man was speaking to, but then Jim walked off and the stranger made no attempt to get his attention back. "I'm sorry?" Nicholas asked in his sternest tone.

"Been staring at me since I walked in." The stranger looked at him, sidelong and with a hint of a smirk. Yes, he looked terribly familiar.

"To be fair, the entire pub was staring at you," Nicholas pointed out.

"Was it?" asked the stranger with an exaggerated air of surprise. He glanced around at the other patrons, most of whom had gone back to their own drinks and conversations. "Humph, hadn't noticed," he said, looking away again and sipping his water.

"I'm sure," Nicholas said dryly. "Can I assume you are neither going on, nor coming back from a Renaissance Faire?"

The man frowned at him. "Er, yeah, you could do that if you want."

"Rehearsal for a play?"

The man's confused expression deepened until Nicholas let his eyes dart over the man's shoulder at the sword's handle. The man's expression relaxed into understanding and he shook his head. "No, no play."

"Slaying a dragon perhaps?"

He snorted and grinned at Nicholas. "And here I thought you were gonna be a humourless git! Or a cop. Good, you had me worried." He held out one gloved hand. "They call me King."

"That your first or last name?"

"My title, actually. Didn't catch _your_ name."

"I didn't throw it," Nicholas said sternly, ignoring the hand and glaring at this King person. "Sir, are you aware that carrying a blade of that size in England is illegal under the Prevention of Crime Act of 1953?"

"Oh bollocks, you _are_ a cop," King muttered, disappointed. "Funny you should mention dragons, though. I was having this discussion with my old school chums the other day about King Arthur –"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to hand over the weapon." Nicholas stood, removed his badge from inside his coat and flashed it at King, who cleared his throat and became very serious.

"Look, um …" he began quietly, his strangely familiar eyes now wide and solemn. "Er, officer. Officer, erm …" He squinted at the badge. "Angel." He grinned again, some of his swagger returning as he looked at Nicholas's face. "Fitting name, I must say."

Nicholas sighed. "Mr. King –"

"If I'm not mistaken, the right to wear religious paraphernalia is protected under the Criminal Justice Act of 1988, is it not?"

Nicholas blinked at him. No civilian had ever quoted legislation back at him before. "It's part of your _religion_?" he asked sceptically.

"That's right," said King, holding up his chin and sitting up straighter.

"And what religion is that?"

"I believe I am well within my rights to decline to respond to such a question."

"You –" Nicholas stopped himself as he felt heat rising up his neck. He took a moment to breathe and try to control his increasing irritation as King sat calmly before him, sipping water like it was a fine wine. 

Chin still held high like a cocky teenager arguing with his teacher why he shouldn't get detention, King asked, "I do have the right to practice my religion freely and without inquiry, do I not?"

"Sir, no one is suggesting that you do not have that right, but my job as a police officer is to ensure the safety of the citizens of this town. You are well within your rights to wear religious paraphernalia, but I need to make sure that that sword actually _is_ religious paraphernalia. Do you understand?"

"I'll tell you what I understand: racial and religious profiling. Hm? Part of your duty as a police officer is to protect the rights of the citizens of … where are we again?"

"Sandford," Nicholas replied flatly.

"Sandford, right! You can't just go about asking people about their religious beliefs. It's a violation of the privacy of law-abiding citizens. Would you question the religious validity of a necklace with a cross pendant?"

"Of course not, but that's not a weapon."

"Like hell it's not. See this?" King pulled off one of his black leather gloves (revealing what looked like a black sleeve with a thumb hole cut out and hooked over King's thumb) and he showed Nicholas a tiny scar on the webbing between his index and middle fingers. "My cousin Sara gave that to me when I was thirteen. It was Christmas and she'd just been given a gold chain with a cross on it as a gift from my mum. She asked me to help her put it on. Well, never one to miss an opportunity, after fastening the clasp on the necklace, I snapped her bra strap. Reflexes like a cat, that one had; she screamed, spun round, ripped the chain off her neck and stabbed me with the cross. Had to have the chain repaired, the money for which came out of my allowance. Now, you tell me that thing's not a weapon." He glanced away and muttered under his breath, "Literally _and_ figuratively in some cases."

Nicholas stood there with his mouth hanging open, gobsmacked at King's boldness. Who the hell was this guy? "Be that as it may –" Nicholas began, but he was cut off when a hand landed gently on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Sergeant Tony Fisher standing by him with a cheery smile on his face. He and the Andes had just arrived; Nicholas glanced around and saw the other two men strolling further into the pub to greet some of the patrons they knew. Fully decked out in their uniforms, they and Tony were still on duty, probably just popping in to say hello and ensure everyone was enjoying a safe New Year's Eve.

"Like a pit bull, you," Fisher said to Nicholas. "Trouble?"

"No trouble," said King before Nicholas could speak. He jerked a thumb at the handle of his blade. "It's just my sword. Officer Angel Face here says I can't carry it round with me even though it's part of my religion."

"That's not what I said," Nicholas quickly began to correct him, but the damage was done; Fisher's pleasant expression turned deathly serious and a little nervous.

"Sergeant Angel …" he began quietly.

"That is _not_ what I said," Nicholas repeated. "I was simply trying to ascertain whether or not the sword is what he claims it is."

Fisher leaned in and whispered, "You sure that's what you were doin'?"

"Wha …" Nicholas looked from Fisher to King (who was now picking at a bowl of nuts on the bar), then back again. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied quietly and impatiently.

"You know what happens in the big cities: one minute an officer's just doin' his job, the next folks are getting all … litigious. We don't want that here."

"No, of course not, but –"

"I'm sure the sword is what he says it is," Fisher said jovially, but then his smile faded into uncertainty and he asked, "Isn't it? I mean who's gonna cause a stir on New Year's? In Sandford?"

"With respect," Nicholas said, keeping his voice low so King couldn't hear over the din in the pub, "I can recall a time when _several_ people caused a stir in Sandford."

"Right, but they were locals." Fisher pointed at King, who continued to pretend to ignore them. "He's not from round here, is he?"

"No, but New Year's is the perfect time to cause trouble. Most of the town's people are in one place right now; the Town Square."

"He's not there, though. He can't hurt 'em from here … can he?"

Nicholas took a moment to look King up and down. "Doubtful," he finally declared. "But that's not the point. Who's guarding their houses? Their valuables? Half the people in this town leave their doors unlocked."

Fisher looked at King again too with his brow scrunched up. "You're here with him," he finally said. "You can keep an eye on him. And his sword. And Wainwright and Cartwright and I are here now too."

"Yes, but we can't keep him from leaving the pub."

"But if you really think he might be trouble, you can confiscate the sword."

Nicholas's shoulders slumped as Fisher's grin returned. It faltered for a moment as though he wasn't sure he was right, but he was and Nicholas knew it.

Fisher squeezed Nicholas's shoulder, bid King a pleasant evening, then began to step away but something stopped him. He frowned and leaned in again. "Did he call you 'Angel Face'?" he whispered.

"I didn't hear it," Nicholas lied. "Wainwright and Cartwright are waiting for you over there, aren't they?"

With a shrug, Fisher finally left to join the Andes.

"Blimey, d'you always look constipated?" King asked, getting Nicholas's attention back. "We'll have to work on that."

With a sigh, Nicholas regarded King tiredly. It seemed pointless arguing with him, and now Fisher had turned up to undermine him. To be fair, King probably wasn't a threat. He looked like he might pull a few fire alarms for a laugh, or even ring a few doorbells and run, but a mass slaying in the town square? Unlikely. That wasn't the point, of course, but Nicholas knew when the quit.

Well, no, he didn't _always_ know when to quit, but sometimes …

"You don't intend to use that sword as a weapon, do you? "Not even in self defence?"

King gave Nicholas the puppy eyes and raised his right hand. "No, sir. It's purely decorative. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Nicholas said through his teeth. "Just … keep it sheathed. And don't … just don't." He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slapped a couple of bills down on the bar, then turned and stalked off toward the bathrooms.

Mere seconds after he'd stepped into the mens, the door swung open behind him, making him jump.

King. His hat was back on his head and both gloves were on again. He came to an abrupt stop, nose to nose with Nicholas.

"What are you doing?" demanded Nicholas.

"What are _you_ doing?" King asked with his apparently signature smirk.

"Going to the toilet," Nicholas tersely replied.

"Wait, really?" King scrunched up his face as though reading a distant eye chart. "Am I the only one who still considers it a signal?"

"Considers what a signal?"

"Going to the toilet?"

"Going to the … a signal for _what_?"

"For … you know." Gary made a crude gesture with his fingers that was impossible to misinterpret.

Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. King. I am a _police officer_."

"I know. Had that discussion earlier, remember? It's all right, I won't hold it against you."

"Are you seriously attempting to solicit sex from a police officer in a public lavatory?"

King looked scandalised for a moment. "I most certainly am not! Wait, hang on … blow jobs don't count as sex, right?"

"Holy mother of god," Nicholas muttered, looking toward the ceiling.

"Like I was saying before you tried to seize my sword –" King stopped for a moment to giggle, but quickly cleared his throat and continued: "As I said before, I was wondering when you were gonna make your move."

Nicholas gaped at him. "I wasn't going to make a move, Mr. King."

"Well, then why'd you come to the toilet?" King asked with a little laugh of disbelief.

Nicholas stared at him some more. "Who are you? You're clearly not from round here. Even if it was possible to live here for any length of time without knowing every single man, woman, child, dog, cat and bloody swan in the area, it would still be painfully obvious that you're no native. Where did you come from? Why on earth are you carrying a sword? What … _what is all this_?" Nicholas gestured wildly at King, indicating his entire outfit.

And just like that, a veneer fell away like snow crumbling from a rooftop, leaving King's face bare. And it was worse; Nicholas had found King's facade grating, but this was much worse because now King's face looked familiar for a very obvious reason.

Every time Nicholas had felt something too real to bear, every time he and Danny had an argument, every time he and Janine had tried and failed to connect and she'd walked away defeated, every time he saw the look of disappointment in the face of someone he cared for when they finally realized how limited he was. The sad, apologetic helplessness that he felt in those moments was exactly what he was seeing in King now, that same realization about himself that something in him was simply wrong or broken. King's facade had been insufferable but it had been shielding them both.

"I, uh … I didn't mean to yell," Nicholas said quietly.

King removed his hat again, toyed with it a bit, turning it in his hands like a steering wheel. With a soft clearing of his throat and a shrug, he began trying to rebuild his protective wall, but didn't quite succeed. "'S all right. Most people do in the end. Yell, I mean. I'm sorry too. I'm a bit out of order. A wise woman told me that once, though not in so many words."

"You didn't really come in here to try to have sex with me, did you?"

King shrugged and smiled a sad little smile. "You're quite fit, Angel Face. Thought you were giving off signals out there, so I thought I'd try my luck." He sighed wistfully. "I used to have game. Back in the day. I think."

"To what signals are you referring?"

"I dunno. Thought you seemed to be waiting for someone, and not necessarily someone you knew. Like you were just waiting for … _something_. Thought maybe I could be it."

"Huh. Well, I wasn't."

King nodded and looked away. "Yeah. Not surprised I got it wrong. Been doing that a lot lately." He put his hat back on and said, "Sorry to bother you, Officer Angel Face." He gave Nicholas a wink, then turned and reached for the door handle.

Nicholas told himself not to open his mouth even as he did just that and said the very thing he was telling himself not to say: "Hang on."

King startled and looked back at him, again like a puppy, but this time one who'd been rejected too many times and was trying, and failing, to hide his hopefulness.

"Erm …" Nicholas began, searching his brain for a plausible reason why King shouldn't go yet. "You … you really shouldn't be wandering the streets with that thing strapped to your back. It's my responsibility to ensure you're not a threat to yourself or anyone else, and the next police officer you encounter might not be nearly as understanding as I."

King snorted. "To be fair, I never said I wasn't a threat to myself." His face changed instantly, dropping slightly as though he thought he'd said something he shouldn't have. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the sleeves protruding from his coat, slipped and finger beneath one of them and itched at his wrist.

Nicholas frowned at that, but pressed on. "Where are you headed?"

"Dunno. I just sort of wing it, you know? Thought I'd grab a room somewhere and head out in the morning."

"I'm not sure you'll be going anywhere in the morning; forecast calls for non-stop snowfall tonight. We'll be snowed in by dawn. And it's the holidays; all the rooms are booked. If you're leaving town, you should go now, but …" Nicholas rolled his eyes, not quite believing what he was about to do. "Would you like to stay for a drink?"

King's eyebrows went up. "With you? You're asking me to stay?"

"Yes. Please don't rub it in."

* * *

When Nicholas emerged from the rest room, he found King seated at a cosy corner table near the blazing fireplace. His hat sat on the table, his sheathed sword stood upright on the floor and rested against the table's edge. He was leaned casually back in his chair, one hand drumming its fingers on the wooden table top. There were two glasses on the table, one filled with water for King, and another with cranberry juice for Nicholas.

"You didn't have to," Nicholas said, pointing at his fresh drink as he took his seat. "Thanks."

King waved a hand at him in lieu of a 'you're welcome'. "I don't mind. 'Specially since it's just juice. You're a cheap date."

Nicholas got the overwhelming urge to state, for the record, that this was most definitely _not_ a date, but he held his tongue and instead glanced around for a conversation starter. King was apparently doing the same; his eyes were scanning the pictures of minor town celebrities that lined the walls, something Nicholas would prefer he didn't take notice of. But it was too late.

"Look at you," King said with a grin, pointing at the picture of Nicholas and Danny that hung on the wall just a few photos away from their table.

Nicholas sighed. "That's nothing, really."

"Oh, nonsense. You get your picture on the wall of a pub, you must've done something brilliant. Or brilliantly stupid."

"I take it that's something you're familiar with."

"You could say that. What'd you do? Judging by the fact you're sitting here, you and your mate weren't permanently ejected from the establishment."

"That's my partner, Constable Butterman. Danny. He and I solved a rash of murders that had plagued Sandford."

King's eyes lit up with interest. "A rash of murders? Here?" he asked a bit too loudly.

Nicholas grimaced and brought a finger to his mouth to tell King to be quiet. "Looks can be deceiving. Sometimes the smallest towns have the biggest secrets."

King's expression darkened. He touched his nose and then pointed at Nicholas as though Nicholas had answered a question correctly. He then sat back again and surveyed the pub and its patrons, looking more and more suspicious. "I guess they're all the same, small towns; all shiny and happy on the outside, all murder and alien robot overlords on the inside."

Nicholas frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

King gave him a rather grave look. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said darkly.

Nicholas sighed. He really didn't want to ask. But he also really kind of did. "I think you're fully aware that a phrase like 'alien robot overlords' might require a little clarification. Please don't make me ask."

King perked up a bit again, eyes brightening as he began his tale: "See, me and my mates went back to our old home town to recreate this _epic_ pub crawl we attempted in our youth. We didn't finish it back then, and this time things didn't turn out the way we'd planned either. I mean, the world didn't end or anything, but … just wasn't the same, is all."

"Because of the robots," Nicholas said flatly.

"Yeah, that. But also just … too much has happened between us all, you know?" King looked down at the table and traced the patterns of the wood grain. "I just wanted to feel like I did when I was twenty, just for one more night. But none of them did. They'd all moved on and found other things to fight for. Didn't turn out so bad, I suppose. We got to say some things that needed saying, and I think we sort of made up. I think they might even have forgiven me. I suppose fighting the forces of evil together tends to bond you a bit. But I don't think I'll see them again. You can't go home again, you know? So, after the, erm … thing happened … with the robots … we all went our separate ways; they all went back to their lives, and me … I've been travelling ever since." At that, he looked over at the picture of Nicholas and Danny again. "Funny, he looks like my old best mate."

"Who, Danny?"

"Yeah. Just like him. It's eerie." King gazed at the photo for several seconds in silence, then looked at Nicholas with a soft smile on his face. The laugh lines around his eyes reminded Nicholas of his own, only King's were deeper, older somehow. "Mine was called Andy."

Nicholas smiled faintly, now caught up in King's nostalgia. "Did he go on the crawl with you?"

"Yeah, he was there. Good man, him." He jerked his head at the picture without looking at it this time. "Your Danny sounds the same."

"He's one of a kind."

"You love him?"

Nicholas blinked at him. "What?"

"D'you love him? As a friend. Or … more than a friend?"

Nicholas hesitated. "We've grown quite close. As friends." He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

"Where is he now?"

"Visiting family for the holidays."

"Oh. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Your family live round here?"

"No, no, they're back in London."

"You didn't see them for the holidays?"

"No, I stayed here and had a quiet Christmas in."

"What, alone?"

"Not entirely. I had Christmas dinner with a colleague and his family."

King's brow furrowed with disapproval. "I've spent a few Christmases alone. Partly out of stubborn pride, partly because there was no one left who'd have me. It was bloody miserable."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I enjoy my private time. You …" Nicholas paused, frowned as he surveyed King, his eyes darting from the earrings to the rings to the sleeves with the thumb holes. "You look like you might require a bit of supervision."

King chuckled at that. "I've had worse said about me. Is there really no one you wanted to spend the holiday with? I know families can be a royal pain in the arse, but what about friends? You do have those, right? 'Colleague' doesn't sound very friendly."

"Danny invited me to stay with him and his family, but I thought that might be awkward."

"You're right, it probably would've been. Why didn't you go?"

"I … I just said –"

"I know what you said. But really though, how come? Thought things were moving a bit fast?"

"What? No, you've misunderstood. Danny and me are just friends."

King nodded and glanced over at the picture again. "You sure about that?"

" _Yes_ , of course. What are you looking at? Knock it off."

King looked at him again with that lopsided smirk of his. "Me and Andy used to say we were just friends too. Well, I suppose we are now. Or will be if we ever run into each other again. But back then –"

"You and Andy aren't me and Danny. There's nothing between us apart from platonic affection and deep respect."

"All right, fine." King pointed at Nicholas and narrowed his eyes. "But something kept you from going, apart from the family awkwardness."

Nicholas shifted again and sipped his drink. He wasn't about to explain to King that he, Nicholas, was responsible for Danny's father being in prison. "What about you?" he asked, changing the subject back to King. "Why did you spend your holidays alone?"

King's mood turned sombre again. His face fell and he grew quiet.

"You don't have to answer that," Nicholas quickly added.

"No, no. 'S all right." King sat up a bit straighter. "Erm … it was, er … life just sort of went off the rails a bit for a while there. People can only take so much."

Nicholas did know, but he suspected that what King was referring to was not an inability to deal with intimacy. Or not _only_ that.

"Given your occupation, I probably shouldn't say much more," King added with a weak smile. "Let's just say that I'm no stranger to running from my problems, both literally and figuratively, and leave it at that."

Nicholas nodded and they both fell silent. King pointedly avoided looking at Nicholas, while Nicholas took the opportunity to study King. The man couldn't sit still. If he wasn't tracing carvings in the table with a fingernail, he was gently drumming his fingertips to the beat of the song playing on the jukebox or looking around at everyone else, head turning this way and that, even craning his neck to see over his shoulder.

Well, other than the fidgeting, he didn't appear to be on anything. Nicholas had managed to work out the fact that King was no stranger to illegal substances, but he was inclined to believe the man when he'd implied those days were behind him.

"How'd you end up here?" King suddenly asked.

"Sorry?"

King met Nicholas's eyes again. "You said you had family in London, and you don't seem like anybody else I've encountered here. You're not from here either."

"Oh. Right. I was transferred here."

"What for? The murder thing?"

"No, erm … my superiors wanted to get rid of me. I didn't fit in, I was … too good."

King's mouth twitched into a smile again.

"I'm not bragging, that's actually what they said."

"If anyone else had said a thing like that, I'd smack him for being a twat. But you? You, I believe."

"Thanks … I think."

"Why'd you stay? Doesn't seem like your kinda town."

Nicholas thought for a moment. It took everything in him not to turn and look at the picture of him and Danny. "Felt like home, I suppose. You know that feeling you get when everything's exactly as it should be?"

King went quiet again, glanced down, nodded. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Been chasing that feeling. Have gotten into a lot of trouble chasing that feeling. Strange how you managed to find yours in a place you'd never been to, with someone you'd never known before." King looked up again, looking thoughtful. "Maybe that was my mistake," he muttered to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

King met Nicholas's eyes. "Trying to go back. I just don't like change, is all."

Nicholas knew the feeling. "But you're still travelling to new places anyway."

King shrugged. "Might as well move forward, right? Can't go back. Can't stay still."

Nicholas nodded as awkward silence fell between them. Not that he didn't know what to say next. He just wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He finally voiced his thoughts: "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why me?"

King didn't ask for clarification. He cocked his head and surveyed Nicholas, looking into him for an answer. "You seemed familiar to me," he finally replied.

Nicholas nodded, accepting the answer. He thought perhaps that was his own reason too, why he'd stopped King from leaving earlier.

King smiled. Not his smirk but his gentle, nostalgia-laced, crinkly-eyed smile. "I like you, Angel Face."

Nicholas felt heat creeping up his neck for the second time since meeting King, but this time it wasn't anger. He smiled back, but had to gently say, "I don't think I'm what you're looking for."

King shook his head. "Nah, neither do I. I may never find it. But nice little detours along the way are all right, aren't they?"

"Countdown's starting!" cried an excited female voice from one of the other tables. All eyes turned to the TV mounted behind the bar. Live footage from the town square was being broadcast. A crowd had gathered out there, everyone bundled up, some clutching paper cups of hot cocoa, others waving sparklers. Nicholas frowned at the sticks of flickering light, going over firework laws in his head. If Danny had been there, he'd pipe up now and say something to remind Nicholas that it was the holidays and maybe he should relax a bit.

 _Switch off, will you?_ he told himself. It was Danny's voice he heard saying it.

The camera zoomed in on the big, glittering ball that slowly began to drop as the countdown proceeded. Folks in larger cities would have laughed at the display and quite rightly guessed that Sandford's New Year's ball had been constructed by school children. But Sandford didn't care, and neither did Nicholas.

Apparently King didn't mind it either. Nicholas looked at him, found him watching the TV with a look on his face that caught Nicholas by surprise. Quaint holiday celebrations like Sandford's didn't seem like King's cup of tea, but King watched the screen like the others in the bar; with a glint in his eye that might have been something like excitement. Or hope. Nicholas supposed that made sense, even for the jaded King. New year; new beginning. Maybe King _was_ hopeful. Nicholas was. He hoped that if King really couldn't go home again, maybe one day he'd find his own Sandford and his own Danny (or Andy as it were) somewhere else.

The whole bar joined in the countdown, each person taking hold of his or her beverage in anticipation. Nicholas clutched his cranberry juice and counted down with a grin on his face that he couldn't wipe away if he'd wanted to as he watched the ball drop. In Essex, Danny was probably watching another ball dropping and maybe counting down, welcoming the new year and feeling that same sense of hope for a fresh start at the same time as Nicholas was. If they could be connected that way right now, Nicholas hoped it could be the same for King and his Andy.

The countdown reached one and everyone yelled 'Happy New Year', but before Nicholas could get the word 'year' out of his mouth, King reached across to grab him, leaned forth and planted one on him. The kiss started out rough but soon softened to something surprisingly tender, complete with a gentle swipe of tongue into Nicholas's mouth. Nicholas felt cranberry juice seeping through his shirt.

The kiss broke and the celebratory noises of the other patrons came flooding back to Nicholas's ears. For a moment he'd forgotten he and King weren't alone. He stared up at King, who smiled softly at him before murmuring, "Happy New Year, Officer Angel Face."

Nicholas gulped and said, "Nicholas."

"Gary. Nice to meet you, Nicholas." He grabbed the napkin from his own side of the table, reached out and patted at the wet spot on Nicholas's white shirt. "You've got red on you," he said. When Nicholas met his eyes again, King gave him a wink, but it was different somehow. It was confident but not cocky; flirtatious but not lecherous; sweet but not sad. Or maybe Nicholas was simply seeing King differently now.

King pressed at the stain longer than was necessary, but Nicholas didn't mind. He was more bothered by the fact that he didn't mind than by anything King was doing. Whoever had convinced this man that he no longer had 'game' had been lying. But King finally stopped fussing and sat back down to sip his water and watch the others in the pub.

Nicholas considered him quietly. No, Nicholas wasn't exactly what Gary King (or King Gary, though he was fairly certain it was the former) was looking for, and King wasn't Nicholas's type either. But maybe King was right; nothing wrong with a little detour. Besides, it was far too late for King to get out of town.

Nicholas supposed that taking this strangely familiar stranger home wasn't quite the 'proper action and shit' that Danny had been referring to, but the thought certainly put a tingle in his belly.

END


End file.
